


Crossing Lines

by Unclesteeb



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bottom Sam Wilson, Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm, Danger Kink, F/M, Gun Kink, M/M, Obsession, Panties, Porn With Plot, Pre-CACW, Rough Sex, Stalking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-19
Updated: 2016-11-19
Packaged: 2018-08-31 19:40:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8591116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unclesteeb/pseuds/Unclesteeb
Summary: He sees Sam and immediately starts laughing. It’s a hoarse thing, a rusty chuckle. Really, it sounds kind of maniacal, like an old, tarnished jack-in-the-box that can’t play its tune correctly. Sam should run. He knows he should just turn around and leave. The world’s most deadly assassin is pointing a gun at him and laughing. But Sam Wilson has always been an adrenaline junkie.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Heed the warnings.

Sam Wilson has always been an adrenaline junkie.

 

He has a memory from when he was probably six or seven of all the neighborhood kids gathering around him as he jumped from the top of the monkey bars. He had told them all that he could fly better than his pet bird, Herman. When the kids had just said, “Do it!” Sam was powerless not to. He remembers the rush of feeling as his friends chanted his name. He remembers climbing up as high as he could go and standing at the top with his arms outstretched

 

Sam hadn't landed on his feet to no one’s surprise but his own. He had landed sort of on his feet, then both his wrists which had broken instantly on the impact. 

 

His friends had sort of scattered when they realized that Sam was hurt and thankfully, one of them was smart enough to run and get Sam’s Mom. 

 

Darlene Wilson came rushing up to the playground, one of the neighborhood kids leading the way. She entered Sam’s line of vision in a fury of both worry and anger. On the way to the hospital she told him, “Little boy, you're lucky you broke something or else I'd be wanting to do it for you. I can't believe you. Why did you think that was a good idea?”

 

Sam had just shrugged, which had really hurt and just said, “It looked fun, Mommy!”

 

His mother had _glared_ at him then, and said, “Samuel Wilson, you're going to turn me gray before my time.”

 

Turns out, she wasn't even alive long enough for Sam to get the chance.

 

When Sam joined the falcon program, dozens of his friends from basic told him he was insane. “You're going to die,” they all warned him. Sam had shrugged and grinned and sometimes he humored them with an assurance that he would be okay, sometimes he didn't even care to do that. 

 

Something in the back of Sam’s mind had always reminded him that it probably wasn't normal to need to be an inch from death to feel alive. Sam was always aware of it, deep down. But he really didn't care.

 

When Sam met Riley he had this feeling of justification. Riley was the first person that Sam had ever met that thought like him, acted like him. Riley craved the same type of thrills that Sam did. They stuck together like two peas in a pod. They always volunteered for the most dangerous missions, knowing that they might not come home after them. 

 

It was no surprise when Riley finally didn't.

 

Maybe it was a wake up call, or maybe Sam was just that damn tired, but the Air Force didn't appeal to him anymore after he lost Riley. He was tired of taking orders. He was tired of waking up every day not knowing if it was going to be his last. When he hung up his wings, he knew his mother would have been proud.

 

From there, Sam learned how to be a civilian. He took a few classes and got himself certified as a VA counselor. He bought himself a little townhouse. He spent hours decorating it and making it feel like a real life home. He planted his roots. He stopped chasing death and started chasing stability. He thought he had it all figured out. He swore to himself that he didn't miss the fight. He didn't miss flying. Sam promised himself every day that he was okay.

 

Then he met Steve Rogers and remembered what it was like to really feel alive. 

 

Sam has been chasing Bucky Barnes around the world for almost six months now. Steve had been with him at first. The two of them moved from shitty motel room to shitty motel room, searching old Hydra bases, looking for clues, watching the news and online forums for reports of a man with shaggy brown hair and a metal arm. Every few weeks they'd find one, but by the time they got there Bucky was long gone. 

 

It was in Poughkeepsie, when Sam had his first contact with Barnes again. 

 

Natasha had given them the tip this time. Apparently someone with a metal arm had withdrawn money from an account that hadn't been touched for years. The teller had called her local police office frantic. “He looked like the guy that beat up Captain America in the YouTube video!” 

 

The police chief had laughed, told her that the video was probably fake, and told her to call back if he showed up to actually rob the bank. 

 

Natasha had alerted them to the sighting almost immediately after it had happened. 

 

Four hours later, Sam and Steve stood in a trashed motel room and as usual, Barnes was long gone.

 

“If you know him, you should pay for these damages!” The hotel owner shouted at Steve.

 

Steve held both his hands up in surrender. “I- I,” he tried, “Sir I just need to take a look around. I have no idea why he smashed up your room. I'm very sorry.”

 

“You are an Avenger! You people are supposed to help us, but all you do is destroy and then leave! Captain Rogers, did you know I lived in New York City when the incident happened? I had a shop in Manhattan then. I had to leave because my insurance wouldn't pay me enough to cover all the damages. They said I didn't have the proper coverage on my policy. So I used what they gave me and my 401k to buy this hotel. I wanted to live a quiet life! Now you're just destroying it all over again!”

 

Steve looked like he wanted to cry and punch the man in the face simultaneously. “Let me see what I can do.” 

 

The man threw his hands up and told them both, “You have thirty minutes.” Before stomping off. 

 

Steve hung his head in frustration, then turned to Sam. “I need to call Tony. See if he can help this guy out at all.” 

 

Sam nodded. Tony would probably laugh in Steve's ear and then rattle off a card number for Steve to give the hotel owner. The dude had enough money to replace some ugly hotel furniture. “I'll look around.” Sam promised.

 

Steve gave him a reassuring smile and stepped into the hallway to call Tony.

 

Sam set to looking. He checked everywhere he could think of, looking for a sign of what Bucky was up to. He prayed to find a map, a list, anything that would tell the two of them where to head next. 

 

He flipped one of the bed’s pillows onto the floor, revealing a neatly folded piece of paper.

 

“Huh.” This was new.

 

Sam carefully unfolded the paper, then almost immediately dropped it.

 

On it, scribbled in barely-legible handwriting was his _address_ and next to that, a kiss pressed in red lipstick and the phrase, “See you soon,” written in beautiful, delicate cursive.

 

Sam whipped his head around, heart beating wildly in his chest. He half expected Barnes to be standing behind him with a gun pointed at his head. He looked down at himself, checking for the red dot of a sniper rifle’s target. Then he forced himself to breathe out his nose quiet enough to hear Steve's voice echoing in the hallway. Steve was still there, his voice gruff in the way it normally only gets when he talks to Tony. Sam forces himself to keep breathing. Barnes knows where he lives. Barnes is unstable enough still to tear up a hotel room. Barnes is threatening him. He should tell someone. He should show Steve the note and ask to stay with him at the tower in New York. That's what he _should_ do.

 

But when Steve pokes his head in and asks, “Find anything?” Sam just crumbles up the piece of paper in his hand, shakes his head and says, “Nope.”

 

Sam owns a gun. He has since he enlisted and learned how to use one properly. It's a good looking gun, a silver pistol. It's practical, fires well and hides in his bedside table wonderfully.

 

When he returns back to his house in DC after dropping Steve (along with all their Bucky-hunting equipment and weapons) off in New York to go do whatever it is Avengers do, the first thing he does after checking his mail is head straight into his bedroom to look for the gun.

 

He isn't surprised that it's gone. The next morning he buys another.

 

Steve calls him a week later with a fresh lead. “It's pretty close to you,” he tells Sam. “It's in Roanoke. Just a vague sighting this time. Didn't even catch a metal arm. An ex-SHIELD agent called me about it. You want me to try and fly down?”

 

 _You probably should_. Sam knows he should say. _It's probably him, trying to lead us both out of our homes so he can hide in mine and kill me. Steve why does he want to kill me? Is it because we are friends? He stole my gun. He left me a love letter that was pretty scary and not romantic at all._ But for reasons he doesn't want to even think about (mostly curiosity), Sam says, “Nah. I'll drive down and check it out myself.”

 

Sam does. Bucky was spotted this time at a little diner. Sam interviews the ex-agent while sipping on a cup of coffee. She's a waitress here.

 

“He was kind of scary,” she tells him. “I wouldn't have recognized him but I've seen that damn video of him and Cap fighting on the highway so many times.” She huffs a disgusted laugh. “I had my own apartment in DC. I had a decent salary, good ass benefits.” Her lips pull into a thin line and she holds her hands out to get Sam to look around the diner. “Now I work here and live with my mom.” Her eyes are hard and angry. “I've relived the events of that week every night for months as I struggle to make enough to pay my damn car insurance. It was him. I'm sure it was him.”

 

Sam finishes his coffee then orders a sandwich to go just as an excuse to tip the girl. He feels bad for her. When SHIELD collapsed, Sam was given a brand new pair of wings and a black card from Tony Stark with his name on it (for emergencies only). He was the one of the lucky ones, maybe the only one.

 

He leaves the diner and heads back to his car to go make the usual hotel rounds. He turns the corner behind the brick building of the diner and runs straight into a metal arm that pulls him into the dark alley behind the restaurant.

 

Sam doesn't try to scream. He doesn't try to get away. 

 

Barnes presses the muzzle of a gun to his abdomen and spits, “Why are you following me?”

 

“Is that my gun?” Sam asks, because he can't help not to.

 

Barnes growls and presses the muzzle deeper into Sam’s skin. When he speaks again, his voice has slipped into a Russian accent, angry and threatening. “What does it matter to you? I won't ask you again. Why are you following me?”

 

Sam remembers a time when he was about twelve, maybe thirteen. He had been getting into a lot of trouble at school, a few fights, a few detentions. His dad had tried yelling at him, then grounding him to no avail. After Sam’s third Saturday detention one warm spring day he'd returned home to find a few backpacks full of his stuff at the front door. 

 

“Go shower.” His dad had told him. “We’re going camping.”

 

His dad had used the getaway as a bonding thing, a way to get Sam to open up. He had also taught Sam tons. Sam learned how to put up a tent, how to start a fire, how to cook beans and hot dogs on it. He remembers his dad telling him to make sure that he cleaned up every scrap of trash before he went to his tent. “The food will attract bears.” He had warned.

 

“Bears?”

 

“Oh yeah. There are plenty of bears out here. They're dangerous as anything, Sam. They should leave us be if we don't leave any food out, but just in case you ever manage to come across one, you should know what to do.”

 

“What's that?”

 

“You play dead, son. A bear won't want anything to do with you if you're playing dead.”

 

Sam had almost wanted to run into a bear after that. He wanted to see if he could play dead well enough for it to leave him alone. He wanted to know if he could play dead well enough for the bear to take him in, like in the Jungle Book. He wondered what living that close to danger would feel like. He imagined himself getting the bear on his side and walking around with it. It was a wild thing to dream up, but Sam just wanted to try, at least once.

 

Sam never did find a bear.

 

So when Sam hears the safety of his own gun in Barnes’ hand click off he drops his eyes to the ground and says, “Because you pulled my friend Steve out of the river. Our friend Steve.”

 

“What does that have to do with anything?”

 

“We just want to know why. We want to know if you're okay.” Sam says in the calmest voice he can muster. He bets that Barnes can hear his heartbeat, can smell his fear sweat. 

 

“I'm fine,” Bucky grits, accent back to normal, then pulls the gun away from Sam’s belly and shoves it into his jacket. “Leave me alone.”

 

Barnes turns on his heel to stalk away. Despite his better judgement, Sam stops him by saying, “Why did you come to my house?”

 

Barnes whirls around and shows his teeth. “I wanted to see if you were worth my time.”

 

“Am I?”

 

Barnes drags his eyes up and down Sam’s body slowly enough that it makes Sam feel naked and exposed. He shivers in the cool night air. He feels like prey with Barnes as his predator, ready to eat him alive. His throat goes dry. 

 

“You're worth a lot more than I thought, Wilson.” 

 

This time when he stalks off into the darkness, Sam lets him. 

 

He starts to dream then, about Bucky. At first his dreams are strange and a little scary, just like every encounter with the man has been so far. Then they shift.

 

Sam has a particularly unsettling dream one night. He's back in Barnes’ tattered hotel room in Poughkeepsie. The room’s still torn to shreds but Sam's lying on the bed. It's pretty comfy, but he can feel the note that Barnes left him digging into the back of his head. He shifts every which way, trying to get comfortable. When he rolls onto his side facing the once-empty part of the bed, Bucky's there lying next to him. His eyes are clear and icy blue. He has Sam’s gun lying between them. Barnes says in that gruff voice, “Hey sweetheart.” Then reaches out and grips Sam’s face with his metal arm. His lips are red, stained from the same lipstick he used to place a kiss on the note next to Sam’s address. He pulls Sam’s face closer to his and kisses him. It's rough and Sam feels his lips split instantly. He can taste the sharp tang of blood on his tongue. Then Barnes pulls away and grins, his lush lips covered in Sam’s blood. His metal fingers trace down over Sam’s jaw, then his adam’s apple. He flattens his palm over Sam’s neck and squeezes. 

 

Sam wakes up, shuddering, gasping and harder than he's been in years.

 

Once Sam has that first dream, it's like the damn floodgates open and Sam’s brain becomes the definition of _things that shouldn't turn someone on sexually_. 

 

He jerks himself off to the memory of Barnes’ hot breath on his ear, the sharpness of his voice, how even through his jacket Sam could feel the heat radiating off of his body. He strokes himself faster, harder and imagines Bucky backing him up against the brick wall of the alley, still pressing Sam’s gun to his stomach, slotting a leg in between his. He imagines Bucky kissing up his jaw, biting his ear, asking, “You gonna come for me? You gonna rub yourself off on my leg right here?” And Sam would have, if he had asked. Sam wants to. Sam wants _him_. Sam imagines Bucky wrapping that cold metal arm around his neck or pinning his wrists down with it. Sam gasps, moans and comes with Bucky's name stinging his lips. 

 

Bucky's the thrill that he's been chasing for years. Bucky's jumping off a jungle gym. Bucky's soaring above gunfire. 

 

He doesn't know where the attraction, really the fucking obsession with Barnes comes from. Maybe it's the danger and thrill of it all. Maybe it's because Barnes, in his right mind or not is goddamn beautiful. Maybe he just needs to get fucking laid.

 

He chases two more leads that end up fruitless before Steve joins him for one again. They head up to Philadelphia and find another trashed motel room. Steve sighs when he sees it, gives Sam a look and then turns on his heel to go to the front desk and pay for the damages. Sam does what he's been doing for a while now and looks around for any sign of Bucky at all. He flips the pillows and finds nothing. He doesn't allow himself to get upset. When he heads into the bathroom he finds a kiss on the mirror, planted there with red lipstick. He swears loudly and forces himself to move and exit the hotel room. He doesn't let himself reach out and touch the lip print.

 

Steve meets him in the hall and when he asks if Sam found anything, Sam shakes his head and says, “I need to take some time off.”

 

Sam’s college girlfriend lives in Baltimore. When he gets home from their trip to Philly, he gives her a call and manages to flirt his way into a weekend invitation to her apartment. He's pretty grateful. This is what he needs. If he gets laid, he can leave this fucked up obsession with Bucky Barnes behind. He can start looking at Barnes as the target again. He can stop jerking off to metal arms and the scrape of rough teeth. He just needs a fresh distraction, is all. All that's wrong is that he's been looking for Barnes for way too long with nothing of substance in between cold leads. 

 

They barely leave the bed the entire weekend. Layla is a beautiful girl with an ass sent straight from god. Sam remembers loving her. Sam remembers not loving her anymore. He wonders what it would be like if she hadn't wanted to settle down somewhere in suburbia with a white picket fence and 2.5 kids. What would it be like if she had thrilled him like Barnes does? What would life had been like if she wasn't a good girl and Sam wasn't whatever the hell he is? 

 

“I don't think you've fucked me like this, ever.” Layla says, sweating and exhausted. 

 

Sam hooks her leg over his shoulder. She's dripping, wet from both of them coming so many times already. “I just needed this.” He says, sliding back inside of her hot heat. 

 

She arches her back and gasps. The fingers of her left hand scrabble at his forearm. Sam can't help but imagine what that would feel like if they were metal. 

 

 

Sam decides to go have a drink at the bar around the corner from his house before he heads in for the night. One drink turns to two, or maybe three and by the time he walks home he’s a little stumbly. He manages to get up to his bedroom with only a few minor slips. He heads into his bathroom to take a piss and brush his teeth. He flicks on the mirror and almost starts crying. 

 

There are three red lipstick kisses on his mirror. One for every day he was gone with Layla. One for every day Barnes was here. 

 

“No.” Sam grits. “No, no! You son of a bitch, no!” He was feeling like he’d actually sleep without his dreams being interrupted by a psychotic assassin for once. Anger flares up inside him. He takes a few seconds to breathe and calm himself down. Then he reaches a shaky hand up to the mirror. He half expects Bucky to be hiding in his shower armed with a knife. Sam’s helpless but to imagine Bucky holding it to his throat, digging it in just enough to start stinging his skin. He breathes out of his nose roughly, continuing to calm himself and then moves his shaky hand the rest of the way to caress the lipstick kisses on the mirror. 

 

“Why won’t you leave me alone?” Sam whispers, like the lips will just start talking. 

 

Sam does what he came to the bathroom to do after a long minute of feeling the texture of the lipstick kisses on the mirror. He doesn’t wash them off.

 

Sam gets into bed and wraps himself up in his thick white comforter. He inhales. 

 

He’s not surprised when it smells like Bucky. 

 

He just lies there and inhales Bucky's musky scent for a while. There's a hint of his own body wash in there, showing that Barnes used his shower. It's intoxicating and Sam can't help himself for any longer. He groans, equally parts frustrated and turned on and stuffs his hand down his pants. He turns his head to the side of the bed where Bucky had slept and breathes in nice and deep. He strokes himself roughly, enjoying the roughness of his own hand and keeps breathing. What if Bucky were there with him? What if Bucky were there talking some dirty shit, holding Sam’s body close to his? Sam gasps and imagines their dicks dragging together. He imagines Bucky spitting in his metal palm and jerking them both off at the same time. He thrusts his hips into his own hand and cries out. He's getting wet now, precome welling up at the top of his dick. He takes his thumb and spreads it around. The slide is filthy good. He imagines Bucky biting at his neck, sucking on the tendons there. He doesn't even think to pull his pants down before he's coming inside of them, hot, wet and sticky. Bucky's scent is still filling his nostrils. 

 

He lies there and pants until he comes back to himself. Then he gets up and goes to take a shower, washing himself clean.

 

“You look good.” Steve tells him. They're at a burger joint in the city. Sam decided to spend the weekend with his mom but as always, made time for his best friend. He's trying, once again, to rid himself of James Buchanan Barnes by proximity. He hasn't caught sight of Bucky these last few weeks, but he can feel his presence in DC like an airborne toxin.

 

“I just need a little bit of time,” Sam says and takes a big bite of his burger. “We should start looking for him again.”

 

“You wanna?” Steve asks, perking up like a puppy.

 

“Yeah,” Sam says because dammit, he does. “Yeah I do.”

 

He and Steve part ways soon after that. Steve says that he's going to get on Natasha about some more possible leads or if nothing else, some more Hydra bases to blow up. Sam gives him a clap on his back and heads towards the subway to go back to his mom's for the night. He's about a block away from the entrance when someone bumps into him. Hard.

 

“Hey!” Sam shouts whipping around to yell at the guy who wasn't looking, then freezes in his tracks. He'd recognize those giant shoulders and long brown hair anywhere. “Hey!” he tries again, hoping that Bucky will turn around and give him something, anything. Barnes just keeps walking, a quick breeze, winding his way in and out of the crowd. Sam’s stuck to his spot on the sidewalk and after a few bumps from other people and curses directed his way, he turns around back to the direction that he was traveling and keeps going. 

 

He heads down the subway steps and digs into his pocket for his metrocard. It’s there, but along with it is something else. He pulls it out. It’s a hotel room key. The name of the place delicately written in black sharpie next to a room number. Sam immediately takes out his phone, googles the address and then heads that way. 

 

His heart’s rocketing in his chest. Yeah, there it is. The rush that he rarely gets to feel anymore. The rush that he craves, that he’s been craving for as long as he can remember. Sam didn’t know until now that it was possible to be addicted to a person. But here he is, hands shaking as he enters the hotel. Here he is, pulse hammering and brow sweating as he climbs the stairway to the third floor. Here he is, steadying himself with a deep breath as he prepares to get his next fix. 

 

He slides the keycard into the lock. It lights up green telling him to go, go. He pushes the door open. 

 

The first thing his eyes are drawn to is the silver gun that used to be his pointing at him from where Barnes is posted up on the bed. The second thing is what Barnes is wearing. A pair of black silk panties. 

 

He sees Sam and immediately starts laughing. It’s a horse thing, a rusty chuckle. Really, it sounds kind of maniacal, like an old, tarnished jack-in-the-box that can’t play its tune correctly. Sam should run. He knows he should just turn around and leave. The world’s most deadly assassin is pointing a gun at him and laughing. 

 

But Sam Wilson has always been an adrenaline junkie. 

 

“You came here to see me?” Bucky asks him. 

 

“Isn’t that what you wanted?” Sam replies, low and careful. 

 

Bucky hums, considering, then flicks the safety of the gun off. It takes all of Sam’s willpower not to react. 

 

“Isn’t that what you wanted?” Barnes counters. “You’ve been looking for me for a long time now. Didn’t you want to just make sure I was okay?” 

 

Sam huffs at his words thrown back at him. “You want me to be here.”

 

Barnes grins like a shark, teeth showing dangerous and gritty. He chuckles again and spins the gun so that it’s underneath his own jaw. He rests his dimpled chin on it and looks up at Sam with those big, icy eyes. “I think I do.” He says, “Aren’t you having fun?”

 

Sam doesn’t answer, but he does take a few steps closer to Bucky. He figures that Steve would never forgive him if he let his best friend shoot himself. Bucky wiggles his hips, grinds his ass back onto the bed. With his closer distance he can see that Bucky’s hard inside those silk panties. Sam forces himself to drag his gaze up Bucky’s chiseled stomach, his muscular pecs that look like a perfect handful each, his rosy pink nipples, past his long pale neck and up to where the gun is resting. 

 

“You like what you see?” Barnes asks, each word pronunciation carefully. Sam’s eyes flick up to his face and he drags his bottom lip, covered with that infamous red lipstick through his teeth, leaving little imprints in his plush, red-tinted skin. 

 

Now Sam can’t tear his eyes away from Bucky’s mouth. He wants to taste it, bite it smear that lipstick all over his own face, maybe his dick.  
“Yeah.” He answers, since he’s too deep in now to start lying. 

 

Bucky full on moans with his mouth closed, pressing the gun a little harder into his own chin. “Mmm good,” He says, breathy. His metal hand travels down to the side of his panties. He wraps the thin string around his finger a few times, pulling them taut over his dick. “Come closer, baby.”

 

Sam’s eyes flutter close at the pet name. He’s hard, he’s been hard since he saw what Barnes was wearing, what he was doing, damn. He gingerly gets onto the bed next to Bucky. Up close he looks even better and Sam is having a really hard time remembering that he's an assassin with a gun. 

 

Bucky flicks the safety to the gun back on and swings it around his finger a few more times. “I couldn't stop thinking about you. You know that?” 

 

Sam doesn't answer, Bucky scoots closer to him on the bed. “I just wanted to know what you'd feel like, what you'd taste like.” Then he puts the barrel of the gun up to his mouth and _licks_ it. He runs that wet tongue up and down the gun a few times like he's giving it a blow job. He sticks it all the way into his mouth and moans around it. Jesus. He slowly draws it back out of his mouth. He eyes it carefully then holds it out for Sam. “Lick it,” he snarls, eyes hot and dark.

 

Sam licks his lips and leans in to wrap his mouth around the gun. His heart's going to explode. Bucky could-could- he refuses to consider it and licks a hot stripe down the barrel of the gun. He keeps eye contact with Bucky the whole time, watches as his breathing quickens.

 

Bucky pulls the gun back and says, “You taste better than that?”

 

“Yeah,” Sam manages, throat dry. 

 

“God you're pretty,” Bucky rasps. He reaches his metal hand up to stroke the side of Sam’s face. The metal is just as cool and smooth as Sam always thought it would be. That's it. Sam's done for. Whatever rational thinking was left in his brain just went out the window. He whimpers and leans into Bucky's touch. “Aww, lookit you,” Bucky croons, sweet in a way Sam couldn't have expected. He rubs at Sam’s lips with his metal fingers. Sam reaches out with his tongue and sucks them into his mouth. He moans at the taste of them. He flicks his tongue around them, sucking them deep and then letting them go slowly. 

 

Bucky swears and Sam hears a metal clank on the table, the gun being placed down. Bucky wrenches his fingers out of Sam’s mouth, reaches his free hand up to cup Sam’s neck and then he smashes their lips together. 

 

It's even better than Sam ever imagined. There's the hot press of Bucky's tongue as it slides inside his mouth. There's the waxy taste of cheap lipstick as Sam bites at both his bottom and top lips in turn. Their mouths move together, sloppy and wet. Then Barnes pulls Sam on top of him like he weighs nothing. 

 

He hooks both legs around Sam's thighs and draws them in close. “You want me?” He asks, “I know you want me. You're hard as a rock.”

 

“I want you,” Sam says, diving in to claim Bucky's lips again, “I want you bad.” 

 

Bucky laughs, short and sharp and then flips them both with his metal arm. Sam lands on his back hard, all his breath being pushed from his lungs. “I’m gonna take you,” he growls.

 

“Please,” Sam says, gasping, trying to get his wits about him. “Take me. I’m yours.” 

 

Bucky licks his lips, a wild animal- a bear ready to take down its prey. 

 

He pulls at Sam’s shirt collar until the shirt rips, then he discards it quickly onto the floor. He leans over top of Sam, purposefully brushing their dicks together and nips and bites at Sam’s neck. Sam knows there’s going to be bruises there. Sam prays there are going to be bruises there. He needs to know that this was real. 

 

He arches up, desperate for friction and grabs at Bucky’s ass to pull him close. His dick is massive and punishing through the thin layer of fabric of his panties. Bucky moans in tandem with Sam when that remarkable spark of pleasure shoots up his spine. 

 

Bucky works his way down Sam’s chest, biting, marking him up the entire way. “Mine.” he grits and sucks a bruise into Sam’s hipbone. 

 

Sam grabs at his hair, “Yes. _Yes, Bucky_.”

 

Bucky undoes Sam’s belt and leans up enough to shuck Sam’s pants to the floor. He hastily pulls Sam’s dick out from his boxers and then seals his pretty red lips around it in one go. Sam gasps, breath hitching, back arching and pulls on Bucky’s hair. 

 

“Oh, god.”

 

Bucky moans around him and the vibrations send shivers through Sam’s entire body. He takes Sam deep to the back of his throat and swallows around him before slowly pulling off. Sam’s about to shove him back down again because he needs the feeling of Bucky’s wet mouth around him again. He’s sick for it. But then Bucky reaches it up with his metal arm and wraps it around Sam’s aching, leaking dick. 

 

“Bucky,” Sam chants, “Bucky, _Bucky_.” 

 

“You like my hand?”

 

“Yes. Bucky!”

 

“Keep sayin’ my name, baby.” He instructs, grinning, peppering the head of Sam’s dick with kisses. 

 

“Bucky, Bucky.” Sam moans, he can’t stop. It’s the only word he knows. The metal is so smooth and cool and oh fuck, he’s going to come. His dick pulses in Bucky’s metal hand.

 

“You gonna come for me sweetheart?” Bucky asks, straight out of Sam’s fantasy and he does, writhing and panting as his dick shoots hot wet streaks across his belly and chest. It’s too much, it’s overwhelmingly good and it doesn’t stop there.

 

Bucky’s metal fingers swirl against Sam’s stomach, collecting some of his come and then travel lower, past Sam’s balls to his hole. Sam gasps and wiggles in protest, knowing that it’s going to be too damn much but Bucky holds him in place with his strong right hand and pushes one finger of the left inside. 

 

The metal’s skin warmed from Sam’s dick but the sensation, the texture. It’s insane. 

 

Bucky leans down and kisses Sam, hot and searing while he fucks Sam on his finger. He bites at Sam’s lip and splits it. Sam can’t tell if he meant to or not but he moans just the same. Bucky laps at it like a cat cleaning its wounds. 

 

Bucky works him open quickly, barely giving Sam time to adjust to the stretch of each metal finger. Sam’s incapable of noises now, just making tiny gasps and sighs whenever Bucky hits his overstimulated prostate. 

 

“Gonna fuck you now.” He tells Sam. 

 

“ _Please._ ”

 

Bucky leans over the bed to grab the bottle of lube from under it. Sam’s stomach is cleaned completely of come since that’s what Bucky used to open him up with. He takes off his panties and strokes his dick with his metal fingers once, twice, until it’s nice and wet. Sam wants to memorize that sight forever- Bucky with his metal fingers wrapped around himself and his head thrown back in pleasure. The muscles of his chest and arm working as he gets himself ready. 

 

He grabs at Sam’s hips and moves him where he wants him. Then he’s pressing inside. The head of Bucky’s dick is the thickest and it burns since he made quick work of preparing Sam. Sam moans and grips at Bucky’s shoulders, both metal and skin, with both hands. 

 

“I can take it,” Sam promises even though he’s not so sure that he can. He might black out, it’s all so fucking overwhelming. It’s all so perfect. 

 

Bucky keeps pressing inside, leaning down to kiss at Sam’s jaw and bite at his earlobe. Finally, he bottoms out. He pulls at Sam’s thighs until they’re wrapped around his waist and starts to move. It’s just as rough as Sam wanted to be. Bucky fucks him hard, fast and unforgiving. He’s grunting as he does it, making these little noises in the back of his throat that send Sam flying higher and higher. 

 

“Baby, you’re so good.” He tells Sam, voice raspy and gone.  
Sam can only whimper in reply, his head thrashing from side to side with how much he’s feeling. This is better than flying. This is better than being at the top of a roller coaster. This is all Sam’s needed, right here.

 

Bucky fucks him and fucks him, stealing the breaths from his lungs with every rough thrust. Sam can feel himself getting close again already. He reaches a hand around to stroke his own dick but Bucky just slaps it away and uses his metal one instead. Sam’s back arches, pushing Bucky even deeper inside him somehow and he cries out. 

 

“Yeah, that’s it.” Bucky groans. 

 

Sam’s toes are curling, his nipples are drawn up tight, the pleasure is overwhelming his entire body. His thighs are shaking, his hands too. He’s powerless to do anything but cling onto Bucky like a safety net and ride it out as his orgasm hits him, crashing into him in waves, making him moan and sob. 

 

He can feel himself tightening up around Bucky. He can feel when Bucky starts to lose it, his own thrusts becoming erratic. “Oh, _Oh_.” Bucky moans, dick pulsing inside of Sam, wetting him up. 

 

Bucky leans down and kisses him. It’s weird and sweet. It’s different than their other kisses. Sam kisses back the same way, because if Bucky wants to kiss him like that it’s only the right thing to kiss back. 

 

“You should stay,” Bucky suggests, panting. Then, “Please stay.”

 

Sam kisses his cheek then bites at his jaw. He inhales Bucky’s scent, the same musky smell from his bedsheets mixed with sweat and sex. “Yeah, okay.”

 

He wakes up alone. The next time he sees Bucky is in Romania.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on [ tumblr ](unclesteeb.tumblr.com)
> 
> For the GIF that inspired this all, click [ here ](http://unclesteeb.tumblr.com/post/153365483001/crossing-lines-unclesteeb-marvel-cinematic)


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